The Last Laugh
by penwhiz24
Summary: Sirius Black sits in his cell, reliving the events of that horrible night. He swears he will get Pettigrew back. He will have the last laugh. One-Shot. My first Harry Potter story, please review!


_A.N.:_

The slabs of rock that made up the walls were damp. He could feel them soaking his skin through his thin, ragged clothes. It must be raining outside, he thought. Sirius shivered, trying to keep warm but it was no use. His skin was stretched too tightly over his bones. He was little more than a corpse and body heat was next to none.

An even colder chill sank into Sirius' being as a familiar shape drew nearer, taking a long rattling breath. He could see the tall, hooded shape standing behind his bars, a scaly, rotting hand protruding slowly from within the cloak...

"No," Sirius moaned. He tore at his filthy hair, digging into his scalp with his grimy fingernails. He wanted it to stop. He pressed his hands against his eyes, willing the visions popping up into his head to vanish. "Please... no..."

A fog penetrated his mind, blocking out his surroundings. He couldn't see the tall, robed figure anymore. He only knew that it was cold. Always cold.

Sirius Black felt that something was wrong that night. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest for no apparent reason. He hadn't seen James, Lily, or Harry for days and not seeing them gave him an odd sensation. It was as if they were not there. They were in hiding, of course, and with the Fidelius Charm they would be completely safe.

And then there was Peter... Peter had been brave, braver than Sirius would have judged him to be. Who would have thought that small, mousy Peter Pettigrew, the boy that always trailed after the other three marauders with an awestruck expression, would have been brave enough to become the Potters' Secret Keeper? Never for the life of him had Sirius been able to figure out how Peter had been sorted into Gryffindor. Perhaps Sirius had misjudged him. After all, desperate situations often brought out disguised traits in people.

Still, he had to go check. This eerie feeling hadn't left him all day. Sirius had always been one to follow his instincts and that was what he was going to do. Somebody was feeding Voldemort information about the Potters, that much was clear. It must be somebody very close to them. Sirius didn't like to think about it, but he had come to no other conclusion. Remus. It must be Remus. Where was Remus now? Had he found out about Peter being the Secret Keeper? Could it be possible? But there was no way, no way that Remus knew about Peter. The plan had been to make Sirius the Secret Keeper all along. They had switched at the last minute. Voldemort wouldn't be able to find the Potters unless the Secret Keeper showed him the secret.

He needed proof that everything was all right. There was no other way in which he could assure himself that all was well. That Lily and James and little Harry were safe.

Sirius didn't even bother to take his cloak. He had just remembered that it was Halloween. This didn't help in assuring him that everything was okay.

As Sirius walked outside to his flying motorbike, he felt a damp drizzle settling on his clothes. The wind chilled everything. It was cold. Always cold.

The wind mussed up his shaggy black hair as he jumped lightly off of his motorbike. He sure loved that bike. The engine roaring, speeding through the air with the wind slapping his face. It was like riding a broomstick only better. James had never agreed. James thought there was nothing better than riding a broomstick.

Sirius rapped impatiently at the door. "Peter?"

All was silent.

"Peter?" Sirius repeated with a frown. Still, the only sound was the wind through the trees. Something was wrong, seriously wrong.

"_Alohomora._" Sirius muttered, pointing his wind at the brass doorknob. The door creaked open.

A feeling of dread had settled in the pit of Sirius' stomach from the moment he walked into Peter's house. The room was bare and deserted. Peter was supposed to stay there. They had gone over this. He could not leave. Nobody must know that he was Secret Keeper. Sirius was the bait, Voldemort would surely go after him. Not Peter.

But that didn't seem right either. The room was perfectly neat; there was no sign of a struggle. Peter had left of his own free will. But why?  
A crushing doubt had furrowed it's way into Sirius' mind. No. It was not possible. He was overreacting. Peter had just... stepped outside, that's what it was. Nothing else. Nothing more.

Something didn't feel right. Peter had always done what Sirius and James told him to do without question. He was a born follower, not a leader, and if Sirius had told him to stay put, Peter would have stayed put. Peter would never risk his own life... and yet hadn't he by agreeing to be Secret Keeper? No, something was definitely wrong. Very wrong.

Sirius' heart beat had sped up. He was finding it difficult to draw breath, as if there was suddenly very little oxygen around him. A small whimper escaped his mouth as he turned around and slammed the door shut. He jumped onto his enchanted motorbike and took off again, going faster than before. He felt like he was going to be sick. The frigid air cut through his lungs like a knife. Cold. Always cold.

Ash was fluttering through the air like many grey moths. It was quiet. Unusually quiet. Like the calm after a storm, as if something really loud had just died, drenching everything in silence. Every few seconds, the sound of falling rubble would break the silence and mist everything over with dust.

The picturesque little cottage was still mainly intact. In fact, at first glance it did not look as if anything had happened. The green hedge was still perfectly trimmed, the grass magically mowed, but then the damage was apparent. The right side of the top floor had been blasted to pieces, causing the rubble to fall and the dust to meander.

Sirius swung himeslf off of his motorcycle. His legs trembled beneath him. He felt weak and small. The dread in his heart was no longer just dread. It was denial, denial gripping at his heart with a vice-like grip. He refused to believe it. It hadn't happened. It couldn't have happened.

He broke into a run, his teeth beginning to chatter from the cold and something else. The door of the cottage was open. It didn't seem forced. Sirius did not dare to breathe. But nothing had prepared him for what awaited him inside.

He was lying on the carpet, his trademark round-rimmed glasses slightly askew, his jet-black hair still messed up, Sirius' almost adopted brother and best friend for life, James Potter. James' hazel eyes were staring blankly up, through Sirius. His mouth was slightly opened. Even in death, he looked stubborn and determined. He had no wand in his hand. Instead it was lying, forgotten, on the Potters' sofa. Voldemort had killed a defenseless James Potter.

Sirius gave a small gasp as a sob got caught in his throat. His knees buckled and his legs gave in. Tears were cascading down his face. This couldn't be true. Sirius placed his ear against James' chest. Everything was silent. James Potter's heart had stopped beating forever. And it was all his fault.

Through the grief of having lost the person who had been closest to him, Sirius heard a noise upstairs. It was like somebody moving and a child screaming. It couldn't be Voldemort, surely? He couldn't have been fool enough to stick around. And what about Lily? And Harry? Had they managed to get away in time?

It was with extreme difficulty that Sirius stood up, his legs still shaking, away from his friend's body. He closed James' eyes. Now it looked as if he could be sleeping.

Sirius was in a delirious daze as he ran upstairs. He didn't even bother to take out his wand. If Voldemort was there, he would try to kill him bare-handed. Nothing else was important.

Harry's room was on the second floor. But the room was not completely there anymore. A whole section of it seemed to have completely collapsed, as if an explosion had hit it. The room was a mess, boxes and chairs were strewn everywhere. It looked as if Lily Potter had tried to barricade the door from...

And there she was, her red hair strewn about her like a bloody halo, her green eyes empty. Lily Evans Potter was dead.

Sirius felt as if another blow had been taken at his heart and now it had broken in two. Because of him, Lily Evans Potter, the fiery-spirited redhead whom James had courted for years until he had finally won her heart, was sprawled on the ground like a rag doll, completely lifeless.

He clasped a hand to his mouth and bit down hard on it to prevent himself from breaking out into the uncontrollable sobs that wanted to escape from his heart. His hands shook. His whole body was trembling violently and he couldn't control it.

"Who's there, eh?" A gruff voice said.

Only then did Sirius realize that somebody was indeed in the room but it wasn't Voldemort. Instead, the enormous shape of Hagrid, groundkeeper at Hogwarts, was looming before him. His face, too, was streaked with tears.

"Sirius." He said in his low voice. "Ye've heard. Terrible, jus' terrible."

But Sirius couldn't say anything. His throat was completely closed. He was shaking uncontrollably. He had absolutely no control over his body.

"James... dead... Lily... oh my God. What have I done?" Sirius was finally able to moan. His eyes were wide open and yet he saw nothing.

"It's not yer fault." Hagrid said firmly.

But Sirius shook his head. Of course it was his fault. It was all his fault. It had been his idea to use. Peter. That scum-bag, subhuman bastard that was-

"Peter." Sirius growled.

Hagrid looked concerned. "Look."

For the first time, Sirius looked at Hagrid and saw that he was holding what looked like a very small bundle in his arms. Little Harry was lounging comfortably in Hagrid's large hands, an ugly gash shaped like a lightning bolt carved into his white forehead.

"Harry." Sirius muttered, approaching the small child.

Harry looked at his godfather with a mixture of fear and then recognition. There were tears streaked on his small face, as if he had just been crying. Harry gave Sirius a small smile. Even as a child so small, Sirius saw how much little Harry looked like James. Except for his eyes. They were a bright, vibrant green, like Lily's had been. Lily's were now hollow and staring into space.

Sirius offered the small child his index finger and Harry took it in his small fist.

"He was jus' lyin' there in the rubble, he was, with a great gash across his forehead." Hagrid said solemnly. "He survived."

"Yes. He did." Sirius muttered. "Give him to me, Hagrid. I'll take care of him."

"'M sorry, Sirius, but 'm afraid I can't do tha'." Hagrid did look sorry.

"What?" Sirius couldn't believe what he was hearing. Anger flared up in his chest. "Don't be ridiculous, Hagrid, I'm his godfather."

"Sorry, Dumbledore's orders. I'm ter take him ter his aunt and uncle's."

Sirius flinched at the idea of Harry growing up with Lily's odious sister, Petunia and her equally horrid husband, Vernon. But at least Harry would be safe. Sirius remained with his arms outstretched for a second more but it was clear that Hagrid would not budge. There was no point in fighting. It was all over anyway. He couldn't take care of Harry. He had another mission. A promise he had made himself if anything would ever happen to James and Lily. He would kill the man who had done it.

"Take my motorbike, then, to take Harry to his aunt and uncle." Sirius said.

"Are you sure?"

Sirius nodded. He looked at little Harry and felt as if he was looking into the faces of Lily and James for the last time. The child smiled.

Sirius' eyes were very dry now. The grief was now mixed with a more powerful feeling. He wanted revenge on the man who had betrayed them and he wouldn't rest until that man was dead by his hand. He nodded at Hagrid. "I won't be needing it anymore."

He was walking down a muggle street, very aware of the wand in his pocket. It seemed to be burning through the cloth onto his skin. It was a reminder of what he wanted to do. He would blow up Peter Pettigrew to smitherines.

The street was busy. Muggles were walking, talking nonsense, as if nothing had happened. They didn't know that the most powerful dark wizard in the world had disappeared and that a child had resisted his attack with only a mark burned into his forehead as a reminder. The muggles were the ignorant bystanders as always.

Sirius looked around, his eyes searching the crowds for the right person. He knew he would be there. Peter would be there. And indeed he was. Short, pudgy, mouse-faced little Peter Pettigrew was standing in the crowd, a wand in his hand.

"Peter!" Sirius roared. He wasn't thinking anymore. He drew his wand as he charged toward Peter. The wood burned into his fingers Nothing mattered except ripping the bastard apart limb from limb for what he had done.

Pettigrew turned around. His eyes widened in recognition but he did not seem surprised. It was almost as if each wizard had been looking for the other. With a quick movement, Peter clasped his hands behind his back along with his wand.

"Lily and James, Sirius!" Peter was sobbing but no tears glittered on his face. His voice, usually mousy, was even more loud and high-pitched with phony hysteria. "How could you? You betrayed them to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

What was Peter playing at? Was he trying to frame Sirius? There was no way he could get away with this. He would see to that.

Sirius gritted his teeth and, feeling very much like his dog animagus form, growled, "You bastard."

He could have sworn that he saw a toothy smile appear on Peter Pettigrew's face before it happened. Perhaps if the muggle witnesses had been looking more closely at the small, mousy boy, instead of the tall, unusually handsome young man they would have noticed the same thing. But they didn't. They didn't understand.

Sirius opened his mouth to curse Peter into oblivion when there was a bright flash of light and a subsequent sound like an explosion. The ground beneath Sirius' feet cracked. Muggles screamed, dust flew everywhere. But as the dust cleared, Sirius saw what happened.

Peter took his wand and cut off one of his own fingers with a whimper of pain before transforming into his usual rat animagus form and scampering off into the sewers that had been exposed with the explosion. All that was left in evidence of Peter Pettigrew was a severed finger and a bloody pile of robes.

And Sirius finally got the joke. The rest of the marauders had always teased Peter for his stupidity but Peter had gotten the last laugh. He had gotten them all, he had gotten them good.

No tears came this time. Instead, an odd sensation emerged in his throat. At first it was just a chuckle. Then a hesitant laugh. Before long, Sirius was laughing maniacally, like a madman.

People kept screaming. The bodies of muggles who had died in Peter's explosion lay limp on the ground. Their families were wailing, trying to figure out what had happned. The Ministry of Magic would be here soon. And still Sirius laughed.

Sirius stood in the center of the street as the wizards began to arrive and take the muggles in for questioning. The Ministry officials spoke to him but Sirius heard nothing through his hysterical laughter.

Sirius didn't struggle as they chained him up and took his wand. Many of the officials seemed concerned. And still he laughed.

Sirius took a long look around. There was a huge crater in the middle of the street and he was standing in it. Everything was lined with blood and bodies, and his wand was forgotten in his hand. He looked at the heap of bloody robes and the stub of a finger and laughed harder still. The clever rat had gotten them all. And now Sirius would have to pay for him.

"He's bloody mental." One of the Ministry officials muttered.

But a closer look was all it would have taken for anyone to realize that young Sirius Black was not a cold-blooded murdered but a broken-hearted man with tears glistening on his cheeks as he laughed at the irony of the world.

Sirius Black shivered in his cell. With a huge effort he pulled himself out of the pain of those memories and willed himself to transform into a shaggy black dog. Everything was better like this. The dementors couldn't affect him as much.

Every minute of every day Sirius Black wanted nothing but to wallow in his despair, to lose his mind like all of the other prisoners. At least maybe then he wouldn't feel the pain anymore. He wouldn't have to replay those scenes in his head day and night... James lying on the ground, dead, blank eyes staring... Lily sprawled on the ground, lifeless, her red hair spread out on the floor... little Harry with that horrible gash on his forehead... the cottage, destroyed... Peter smiling as he blew everything up... and himself, laughing.

It was his fault. He had suggested that the Potters use Peter as their Secret Keeper. Remus had been completely innocent all along. It had been small, mousy Peter, insignificant at school next to the likes of Sirius and James, who had gone to Voldemort and turned in the Potters for eternal glory within the ranks of the Dark Lord.

Sirius knew that he was innocent. He hadn't killed thirteen people with one curse. It had been Peter. He hadn't sold Lily and James to Voldemort, it had been Peter. And Peter was out there somewhere, alive and unpunished while Sirius rotted away in prison.

In his dog form, Sirius was able to think more clearly. He had no idea where Peter was but he swore that he would find him. Sirius would be the first person to ever break out of Azkaban and then would commit the murder for which he had been imprisoned. Peter Pettigrew would not escape Sirius Black a second time. Peter Pettigrew would die.

"Ah, Sirius Black's cell, I presume? Excellent, I see you are keeping him very well guarded. I dare say you should keep it up." Fudge said with an appreciative nod. His bowler hat was sitting jauntily at the top of his head and he seemed rather too colorful for the monotonous grey of Azkaban prison. "Indeed, excellent."

Sirius Black stared at the Minister of Magic from the farthest corner of his cell. He was running his fingernails along the cold floor of his cell, making a constant grating noise. Cornelius Fudge, feeling stared at, looked back into Sirius' hollow grey eyes, ones that had once been handsome but were now empty. It was clear that the feeling made him uncomfortable.

"Hello, Minister." Sirius' voice was hoarse from not using it but it was sharp and alert, rather like his haunted grey eyes. His face was passive and he looked almost bored.

"Yes. Hello... er... Black." Replied the Minister with an uncomfortable step backward. Fudge could remember what Black had been like right after that fateful night. He had been a handsome young man with that air of hauteur about him which could only belong to a member of the Black family. Now he was little more than a skull with skin.

"You wouldn't happen to have finished with the newspaper, would you?" Sirius pointed at the_ Daily Prophet_ with one, long, bony finger. "I rather miss doing the crossword puzzle, you know."

With a stunned look, Cornelius Fudge passed the newspaper through the bars where Sirius Black took it from him with a hand so thin that it looked like it would disappear. Fudge looked startled and disconcerted. He ran off immediately, probably to ask somebody why Black was still acting so normal, even with the dementors guarding his cell day and night.

Sirius hadn't looked at a newspaper in quite some time. The thin paper had a reassuring quality in his hands. Without hesitation, Sirius flipped to the front page.

**MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE** was the headline.

Sirius was about to turn the page and look for something more interesting to read, when he spotted him, there, on that boy's shoulder, plump and happy; the rat, Peter Pettigrew.

Peter Pettigrew... the man who had had the last laugh. The man who had fooled them all.

Feeling more alive than he had in almost twelve years, Sirius hungry devoured the words of the article. _'The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts which five of the Weasley children currently attend.'_

So Peter was at Hogwarts. How perfect. Sirius knew Hogwarts like the back of his hand. After all, in another life he had been Padfoot, proud marauder and fellow creator of the Marauder's Map.

Harry would be there, Sirius realized with a jolt. Did his godson look like James? He thought so. But he would have his mother's eyes.

There was no alternative now. Sirius would escape the next time that the dementors brought him his food. A strong something had lit up in his chest and was now burning brightly, giving him strength. He would find Peter Pettigrew. And Peter Pettigrew would die.


End file.
